


One and Only

by andquitefrankly



Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: BAMF Bilbo Baggins, Because I can, Bilbo is So Done, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Frerin Lives, M/M, Protective Thorin, Thorin Is an Idiot, While You Were Sleeping AU, but in middle earth, once upon a time bilbo saved a dwarf's life and immediately regretted it
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-12-30
Updated: 2018-01-08
Packaged: 2019-02-23 22:30:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,343
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13199904
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/andquitefrankly/pseuds/andquitefrankly
Summary: Bilbo had only one want: to one day work up the nerve to talk to the handsome dwarf that came into the tea shop once a week. But one thing led to another, and somehow, his whole family seems to think he's Frerin's One! And Frerin, well he's in coma and can't put a stop to this misunderstanding.Honestly, Bilbo hadn't meant for any of this to happen! Now, if only his brother would stop glaring at him.





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know. OKAY I KNOW. i have so many WIPs. but i cannot be stopped. I'm hoping this fic will not be very long. :)  
> i'm going to try and make a schedule. so hopefully new chapter by next friday.

Bilbo had few regrets since settling in Dale.

He had left Bag End in the care of Hamfast and his burgeoning family, the Gamgee’s a reputable and trustworthy family, unlike a certain cousin that Bilbo was too gentlemanly to name. He had packed a trunk and joined a traveling caravan towards Erebor, his mother’s stories fresh in his mind of the greatest dwarf kingdom on Middle Earth.

He had his fill of adventure, running from goblins and outsmarting trolls, meeting elves and befriending kings. It was all very exciting.

Perhaps a touch too exciting, Bilbo thought as he looked down at the handsome dwarf in his arms. He could feel a blush blooming on his face, and surely his ears were painted pink. He never thought he’d get this close to the dwarf.

He had been satisfied simply looking at him from afar on his weekly visits. But now that they were so close, Bilbo could make out the laugh lines on his face, the miniscule crow’s feet by his eyes. He really was gorgeous, Bilbo thought. Truly, utterly, intoxicatingly handsome.

There was a shout, and suddenly Bilbo found himself lifted by his shirt, hairy feet dangling off the ground as if he was nothing but a sack of potatoes. Not even potatoes, for that had weight to it when lifted. He was nothing more than a dirty shirt to his assailant. Bilbo felt his ire rise and shouted, “Put me down this instant!”

The man – or dwarf, rather, for Bilbo could see him now that he was lying on the hard, cobbled ground – dropped him, and Bilbo fell with a loud _Thump!_

He was pushed aside as a troop of dwarves checked on the injured dwarf. “Yes, I’m fine, thank you,” Bilbo grumbled, rubbing at his throbbing rump.

He knew he oughtn’t be so irritable, but really, he had gone and saved the dwarf’s life. A thank you would be appreciated. He would even settle for an acknowledgment of his existence. The way they were acting, you’d think Bilbo had been the one to almost run him over with a horde of horses.

“What happened here?” a large dwarf with daunting head tattoos asked, two large axes strung onto his back.

The commotion suddenly died down and all eyes were on Bilbo.

He cleared his throat nervously, but stood up, wiping the seat of his pants free from dirt and pebbles. “You see,” he started.

* * *

What happened, was this.

* * *

Bilbo had made it to Dale safe and sound. His mind a little frazzled, and nerves jumpier than expected, but all in all, hale and whole.

It was quick work finding employment at a teahouse owned by one Master Dori. He was well known in Dale and Erebor, and had had trouble keeping employees. Most men didn’t like answering to a dwarf, and most dwarves found tea to be too elvish to take the job seriously. In Dori’s eyes, Bilbo was sent by the Valar himself.

Hardworking, passionate about tea, and had just enough spirit to chase out any lurkers or troublemakers.

Bilbo enjoyed spending his days in the teahouse, the unique blend of dwarvish tea tickling his nose. How they managed to create such a spicy brew was beyond him.

He spent his days serving tea and recommending blends to customers, drinking tea with Dori or trading stories with his bookish brother, Ori. Every day was a pleasure.

But the days _he_ would come in were the greatest gift Bilbo could ever receive.

His hair shone as bright as the sun, a thick braid pulled back and wispy curls framing his face. He had a braided mustache that led into a short, tied beard. And his eyes. Oh, Bilbo could write sonnets about the color of those eyes. A blue so bright it rivaled the sky. He was the vision of rugged handsomeness, and he’d come into the shop every other week or so for Dori’s very own special blend.

In those five minutes, Bilbo would enjoy his presence. Fantasize just a bit what it would be like to speak to him, to be held in his arms, to be kissed by him. Just the thought made Bilbo blush. If his mother could see him now!

Today was looking to be like any other day. Bilbo watched as the dwarf came in and looked around the shop. He smelled a few tins of tea, looked at the newest teapots on display, and then grabbed the usual tin.

But then he smiled at Bilbo and Bilbo forgot how to breathe.

“Good morning,” he said, dropping some coins on the counter. “Beautiful morning today.”

He was the beautiful one.

Bilbo accepted his coins and watched him leave in a daze, scolding himself once he was gone. He could have spoken to him. He could have introduced himself! Instead he made a right fool of himself and the dwarf would probably go out and tell all his friends about the simple hobbit who worked at the tea house.

Stupid, ridiculous Bilbo!

As he was bemoaning his fate, he could make out what sounded like a scuffle out on the street. The neighborhood was a good one, and Bilbo was hard pressed to hear any sort of commotion at any time. He peaked out the window, only to see his dwarf surrounded by a group of men, heinous looking fellows with craggly skin and thick muscles.

One especially tall one was flipping a dagger in his hands, most likely the ringleader. He was pointing it at the dwarf, motioning towards the coin purse tied to his belt.

Why, he was trying to rob him!

Bilbo wouldn’t stand for it.

He grabbed a freshly brewed pot of tea and ran out of the store, stepping in front of the dwarf, ignoring the sharp knife that cut off a button on his best waistcoat, and threw boiling hot tea on the heinous ringleader.

There were shouts and curses as the man dropped his dagger and pawed at his face. His two compatriots looked down at Bilbo in shock, only to reach for their own weapons. One short, stubby one had a fierce looking club and swung it down, nearly getting Bilbo, but he was shoved out the way by his dwarf, who got cracked on the head in his stead. He keeled over in a dead faint and Bilbo ran towards his dwarf’s assailant, toppling him over and sitting on him, beating him with his tiny fists.

How dare he hurt that dwarf. How dare he!

He could hear the other crook run away, but not before letting out a group of ponies from their pen, whipping their backsides so hard that they ran away in fright, right towards Bilbo and the dwarf.

Bilbo jumped off the fat robber and grabbed the dwarf’s hand and pulled him as hard as he could to safety. He was a heavy one, that dwarf, but Bilbo managed in time, falling over onto the dwarf as the ponies stampeded behind them.

The dwarf looked up at him blearily, blue eyes dull, before closing his eyes and passing out once more. It was then that Bilbo was lifted by shirt.

It was just his luck.

* * *

“You see,” Bilbo began, pulling at his waistcoat. He cleared his throat again, finding it hard to find his voice with such an angry dwarf glaring at him. He had no reason to be nervous. He had saved a life today. He should be heralded as a hero, not treated like a criminal. He was innocent!

Ori rushed out of the shop, ink stains on his hands and his hair a right mess. He stood by Bilbo’s side and said, “I saw the whole thing, and he saved Master Frerin’s life!”

There was a sudden quiet as two dwarves checked on Master Frerin – it was a good, strong name, Bilbo thought – the mean looking dwarf pulling at his beard in thought.

“He’s alive, Captain,” one of the dwarves said, and now that Bilbo looked they all seemed to be wearing a uniform. Were these soldiers? Was that dwarf a soldier as well? Bilbo had so many questions.

“Call Oin,” the Captain barked, and off one soldier ran towards Erebor.

Bilbo was really very tired, and now they were beginning to get looks from neighbors and passerby. He hadn’t meant to make such a commotion.

Ori clung to Bilbo’s arm, a welcome support. “Don’t you worry, Master Baggins,” Ori muttered. “Master Frerin’ll be alright and Master Dwalin won’t hurt you unless he wants a wallop from my brother.”

The captain – Dwalin, it seemed – blushed, coughing in embarrassment. “We’ll take it from here,” he said, dismissing them both.

* * *

Bilbo paced back and forth in his room, fraught with worry.

What if that Captain Dwalin didn’t believe Ori? What if they thought that he had tried to hurt Master Frerin? Or worse, Master Frerin never woke up and they blamed Bilbo for it!

No, no, no! He couldn’t live with that guilt. He was trying to save him, honest. What could a little hobbit do that could hurt a dwarf? Nothing!

It’d be a shame if Frerin never woke up, Bilbo sighed. He was so handsome and sweet and perfect.

Bilbo shook his head. He had to get those horrible thoughts out of his head. Everything was going to be just fine.

He sat on his bed.

But then again… Bilbo jumped out of bed and grabbed his jacket, not even closing the door behind him. He trusted the Ri’s not to snoop in his room.

He ran past Ori who was knitting in the parlor without so much as a word, hearing him call out, “Bilbo!” in question.

Bilbo ran all the way to Erebor, not stopping until he reached the gates, but not by choice. There was another fierce looking dwarf at the gates, a mattock in hand, that caught Bilbo just before he could slip inside the mountain.

“And where, exactly, do you think you’re going, little one?”

Little one! Bilbo wasn’t that much shorter than this guard. Of all the nerve! Bilbo puffed up and said, “I’m here to visit a friend.”

The guard raised an unimpressed brow in disbelief, and Bilbo couldn't help but think how tired he was of these doubting dwarves. His mother failed to mention how distrusting dwarves could be. “He was hurt today,” Bilbo continued. “And I need to make sure he’s alright.”

“No entry,” the guard said, holding out his mattock in front of Bilbo to block his path.

A few dwarves stepped around them both, a couple stopping to watch.

“I’m here to see Master Frerin,” Bilbo tried. Surely the guard would understand. He must know this Frerin fellow. All soldiers knew each other, didn’t they? He should be happy to know his fellow compatriot had such devoted friends.

It had the opposite effect. The guard grew tense, and stepped in front of Bilbo, looking down at him to repeat, “No entry.”

“The nerve of you!” Bilbo crowed. “Master Frerin is a state of pain, no doubt, and I’m sure he’d appreciate a friendly face. I’m his – ” More dwarves gathered around him and Bilbo felt his throat go dry. He didn’t want to say he was his savior. More like the one that saved his life. That made it sound like he owed Bilbo something. And really, all these people didn’t need to know the story, now did they? How could he say it? “The… one… I'm the one -”

There was a collective gasp and Bilbo turned around, watching as all the dwarves stared at him wide eyed. Even the guard before him dropped his jaw, his mattock hanging loose in his hand.

“You’re his One,” The guard whispered, though why whisper, Bilbo wasn’t sure.

Bilbo gave a tentative nod. He didn’t understand what all the fuss was about, but if it got him inside, then he’d agree to just about anything. After all it wasn’t a lie. He was the one that saved Frerin from being sliced to ribbons.

Suddenly he was shuffled inside, two guards mysteriously bracketing him, while another dwarf appeared and led him inside the mountain.

He had tried to ask just where they were headed, only for the guards to look at him wide eyed, and the servant bow deeply, his beard grazing the stone floor, and say, “The infirmary, my Lord.” Bilbo had just spluttered and tried to explain that he was no one’s lord, but was simply treated to deeper and deeper bows.

How the servant managed to walk and bow was a mystery to Bilbo.

Bilbo was so flustered by it all, that he hardly had time to take in the architecture of the mountain before he was deposited in front of a wide set of doors with the engraving of a snake wrapped around a rod. He wanted to ask the servant just what to do next, but he was gone.

The guards stood beside him, still as stone. Bilbo fixed his waistcoat and knocked, opening the door a crack when he received no answer.

There didn’t seem to be anyone inside except for Frerin, who was laid out on a cot. Bilbo rushed to his side, lightly touching the bandage wrapped around his head. This was all his fault!

“You big idiot,” Bilbo told him with a sniffle.  “I thought dwarves were supposed to have heads as hard as rocks. All you got is a head full of them.” He patted his arm, hoping Frerin would know he really didn’t mean it. “You'll be right as rain in no time,” he finished, feeling just a bit uncomfortable offering comfort to a stranger. He might fancy him, but that didn't give Bilbo permission to treat him like a friend. 

Bilbo sat in the chair by the cot, deciding he’d better wait for someone to come get him, only to rise as the infirmary doors opened and in stormed a regally dressed dwarf, followed by his flustered entourage. One particular fellow was wheezing, doubled over as he tried to catch his breath.

“What happened?” the dwarf boomed, ignoring a nurse that came rushing into the room, trying to hold him back.

“Your majesty!” the nurse pleaded, and Bilbo froze. Majesty? Why this was none other than King Thrain himself! Why would the king come see about a lowly soldier? Unless… Frerin was his own personal guard! “Be calm, please!” the nurse tried.

A door just beyond Frerin’s cot opened and in stepped a white haired dwarf, frowning as he caught sight of the king. “Who dares shout in my infirmary?” he shouted, wagging his finger at Thrain, as if he was a misbehaving child.

Thrain coughed, guilty, and pointed at the large dwarf who had given up on breathing and was now laying on the floor in a hopeless heap. The doctor snorted, shaking his head at his king.

“Oin, how is Frerin?” he asked.

“What?” Oin shouted.

“How is Frerin?” Thrain shouted.

“What?”

Thrain sighed, grabbing Oin and pulling an ear trumpet from his coat pocket and holding it up to the doctor’s ear. “How’s my son, you deaf idiot!” he shouted into the trumpet.

“Oi!”

Son! Why that meant… Bilbo gasped, holding a hand over his mouth as he looked down at the sleeping Frerin. He was a prince!

The infirmary doors burst open once more and in came a swarm of dwarves, each yelling over the other, and fighting to get close to Frerin. Two young dwarves managed to duck under the legs of the adults and stood over Frerin.

The youngest one, with barely a hint of scruff on his cheeks, asked, “Do you think he’s dead, Fili?”

Fili, with blonde hair and a proper goatee, poked Frerin’s cheek and sighed, “He wouldn’t be with the doctor if he was dead, Kee. Don’t be a bag of rocks.”

Kee huffed, stamping his foot as he shouted, “I am not a bag of rocks! Amad, tell Fili I am not a bag of rocks.”

“Kili, Fili, please,” said a dwarrowdam, their mother, no doubt. She turned to Oin and asked, “What happened?”

“You can’t even grow a beard!”

“Boys, please!”

“Ugmil’adad, tell Fili my beard’s growing, tell him.”

“Of course it is, my Khajimel.”

“Adad, tell Kili he’s a big fat baby.”

“Fili, please. Now is not the time.”

“I am not a baby!”

“Shut up!” Oin shouted, silencing the royal family. He gave a mighty glare to both Fili and Kili who stared down at their boots, properly chastised. Satisfied that peace had returned, Oin told them “He's just hit his head. He’ll be alright.”

Bilbo heaved a sigh of relief, plopping back into his chair. “Thank Eru,” he breathed. He was half afraid Oin would tell him he was on his death bed. He could go now go home in peace. It was then that Bilbo realized that the silence was deafening. He looked up to see all eyes on him.

Kili stepped towards him, brown eyes alight with mischief. “Is that a halfling?” he asked.

“It’s not a dwarf,” Fili piped up, stepping beside his brother, head tilted. “Maybe he’s a small elf, with those ears.”

“Yuck,” Kili replied, making a face.

“I think he is a halfling, brother.”

Well, Bilbo was not going to be talked down to by a bunch of children, no matter their titles. “I am not half of anything, thank you very much,” he told them, pulling himself up to his full height. “I am a hobbit. A gentle-hobbit, mind you.”

Fili and Kili giggled, but were stopped from asking further questions by their grandfather who asked, “And who are you to Frerin, to be let in here so freely?”

Bilbo shrunk where he stood. Who was he? Nobody, that’s who! He might have saved Frerin’s life, but what was a life debt to a king? Not that Bilbo thought of it as such. He was just doing his duty. Oh no. Really, he was no one of importance. And he would have said that, only he hadn’t a chance, for at that very moment the servant that had led him through Erebor and into the infirmary chose to make his presence known and declare, “He’s Prince Frerin’s One!”

All eyes fell on Bilbo and he suddenly remembered what his mother had told him as a child.

Dwarves only love once, she had told him. For Mahal had made each dwarf from stone and carved two from that very same rock, and when they found each other, they knew it in their hearts that that dwarf was their One, their other half.

Oh. “Oh dear,” Bilbo muttered, as the room grew fuzzy and his head got dizzy, and then all at once everything went black as he fell into a dead faint.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter:  
> pining, Thorin, misunderstandings, bilbo really wants to be left alone


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thorin does not believe that Bilbo is Frerin's One. Bilbo really wishes he was less polite; it would make this whole truth telling plan go easier.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> okay so it's not friday, but what's a few days late. honestly, i started classes this week so i was lazy and preoccupied with hmwk and the like :)

Dis looked down at the halfling – hobbit, with a furrowed brow.

The poor little thing had fainted dead away, and they had no choice but to lay him in the cot beside Frerin. To think, her baby brother had finally found his One, and he hadn’t said a single word about it.

Hadn’t she come to him when she had first met Vallis, told him how she was sure he was her One. How could he not entrust this secret to her? Was he ashamed of this hobbit, of his One? Impossible! True, it was strange to have a One who wasn’t a dwarf, but there were some known accounts of mixed partners. Why, rumor had it that the Durin line had elvish blood!

“Is he dead?” Kili asked, looking down at the poor hobbit, finding him much more interesting than his unconscious uncle.

“He’s not dead,” Fili told him, staring at the hobbit’s large, hairy feet. “Amad, he’s got a beard on his feet.” He poked the large toe and giggled when it wiggled.

Thrain stood with his arms crossed, hand stroking his beard.

“Adad,” Dis said, reaching for his arm. Thrain hummed, eyes trained on the hobbit. “What are you thinking?”

Thrain patted Dis’s hand in a comforting manner. “Dwalin told me that he was attacked,” Thrain said. “Surrounded on all sides by a group of men, when a small halfling jumped in and fended them off.”

Dis couldn’t believe it. This small hobbit did that? He must truly love her brother to risk life and limb for that idiot.

Thrain looked at Dis from the corner of his eyes, a smile blooming on his face. “How soon do you think they’ll be married?” Thrain asked.

Dis groaned, memories of her own wedding flooding her mind. Thrain was impossible then, she could only imagine him now.

Before Dis could dissuade him from his wedding planning, the hobbit began to groan, scrunching up his nose. It was rather adorable, if Dis was being honest. Yes, he would compliment Frerin’s looks very well. They’d be two bright suns, no doubt about that.

The hobbit sat up, pushing his wild curls away from his face, blinking at the group of dwarves surrounding his cot. He yelped, shuffling backwards in surprise until his back hit the wall.

“I’m Fili,” Fili told him, climbing onto the cot, taking up the space the hobbit had vacated.

“And I’m Kili,” said Kili, following Fili’s example. “What’s your name?”

“Bilbo Baggins,” the hobbit sputtered. “Of Bag End.”

“Where’s that?”

“Oh… er… in Hobbiton,” Bilbo said. “In the Shire.”

“Where’s that?”

Dis picked up Kili and set him in her father’s arms, doing the same with Fili and giving him to Vallis. “Far west from here,” she answered. “Now, Mr. Baggins.” She straightened her skirts and smiled down at him. “It’s time we’ve been properly introduced.”

* * *

Thorin tried not to let his irritation show as he listened to Lord Ovur drone on and on about the injustice of allowing the miner’s guild to strike against his company. His family had owned those mines for generations, and Mahal forbid anyone tell him how to run his mine!

In all honesty, Thorin hoped that they wouldn’t reach negotiations so he could reclaim those mines and let them be run by the state. At least then he could guarantee the miners would receive decent pay and good working conditions, unlike Ovur who seemed to think they were still living in the Dark Days.

He’d be done complaining soon, Thorin told himself. He had to.

He looked past Ovur to spy three more petitioners. Curse his family for establishing an open court. Thorin didn’t hate it, necessarily, but nothing less than the fall of Erebor would free him from this torture. Even the possible death of a brother was not a good enough reason to close court early.

 Hopefully they wouldn’t drone on for hours and hours.

A servant quietly ran towards him and Thorin sat up. Had Frerin’s condition worsened? He couldn’t die! That big idiot. When Thorin finally got to his deathbed, he’d kill him.

The servant rushed to Balin, shuffling in his spot as he felt Thorin glaring at him, and whispered in his ear. He bowed once, twice, a third time, before running off as quick as a flash.

Thorin raised a brow in question at Balin who stood there, agape. Well, he seemed to ask, but Balin merely shook his head. Not here. Not now.

Then when, Thorin’s frown asked. Am I not the king?

Regent, Balin’s eyeroll replied.

Thorin growled under his breath and Balin sighed, stepping towards him and whispering, “It’s about your brother.”

“He better not be dead,” Thorin grunted.

“No, no. Not dead,” Balin appeased him. “Only…”

“Spit it out, Balin. Coy is not a good look on you.”

“It seems there’s a hobbit visiting him in the infirmary,” Balin said. A hobbit, Thorin thought. Frerin was one to make friends with any creature. He supposed it wasn’t too surprising. “This hobbit appears to be your brother’s One.”

“What!” Thorin exclaimed, sitting up, his crown tilting dangerously, catching on a braid. A hobbit! His One! This was nonsense. Utter nonsense. Who – How – Where – Impossible! Now he was definitely going to kill his brother. Of all the irresponsible –

A hush fell upon the court as they all watched Thorin bluster at his advisor. And as quickly as Thorin had caused a scene, he had fixed his crown and sat back down, motioning at Ovur to continue; but Thorin was not listening to a single word.

Just who was this hobbit who thought he could claim his brother’s heart?

* * *

Bilbo walked back home in a daze, completely unaware of Ori running towards him until he was scooped up in his arms.

“Bilbo,” Ori cried. “We were so worried about you.” He set Bilbo back down, but kept his hands on his shoulders. “I told Dori how you ran out and he’s been looking for you everywhere! He nearly had a heart attack.” He shoved Bilbo towards the house, rising a lantern in front of the door. “Where did you go?”

“I met the king,” Bilbo blurted, falling into an armchair. The fire was blazing and Bilbo was glad for it, pointing his toes towards it.

“The king!” Ori squawked, setting himself on the footstool and scooting closer to Bilbo. He looked at Bilbo in wonderment before asking, “Which one?”

“The one who happens to be Frerin’s father,” Bilbo answered, sitting up and smacking Ori’s knee. “Why didn’t you tell me Master Frerin was a prince?” he demanded.

“I thought you knew,” Ori said. “Everyone knows.”

“How am I supposed to know that? I am a hobbit. A hobbit! We don’t have kings or princes in the Shire,” Bilbo said, dropping his head into his hands. “I made a right mess of things.”

“I’m sure it wasn’t that bad,” Ori reassured him. “They let you come home, didn’t they?”

“They think I’m his One,” Bilbo told him.

Ori blinked at him, cocking his head in question. “King Thrain?”

“Frerin,” Bilbo hissed.

Ori threw his head back and laughed, wiping a stray tear from his eye. Bilbo glared at him, silencing him completely. “You’re serious.”

“Very!” Bilbo exclaimed. “I went to the gate and they wouldn’t let me in and all of a sudden I’ve got one guard on my left and another on my right and this little dwarf who kept bowing at me and next thing you know I’m at Frerin’s bedside and in comes the king and someone tells him I’m his One. I lied to the king.” His face went white as a sheet and his hands began to shake.

“You have to tell them the truth,” Ori told him, gripping his hand.

“I tried. Yavannah knows I tried,” Bilbo said. “But they were so happy.” Bilbo stood to stare into the fire, raising a hand to his neck. “What if they kill me.”

Ori rolled his eyes. “If anything, they’d banish you and name you and your future generations enemy to the crown.”

Bilbo groaned, “That’s not reassuring.”

“They’re going to find out eventually,” Ori remind him.

“I’ll tell them tomorrow,” Bilbo decided. “They… invited me to dinner.”

“You’re doomed.”

“Shut up.”

* * *

Bilbo paced just outside the infirmary doors, not sure if he was allowed to enter.

That same servant from the day prior had led him here, so he must be allowed, but should he enter? He didn’t really have a claim to Frerin’s time in any way. But really, he had saved his life, hadn’t he? And he was his supposed One, wasn’t he? So he had every right, thank you very much!

With a surge of confidence, Bilbo opened the infirmary doors, blinked once, twice, and then walked back out.

He could feel his face growing hot, and it was most likely the most unappealing shade of red. Curse his Baggins blood. If he was all Took he would most likely take the sight of a naked dwarf in stride.

Don’t be a prude, Bilbo chastised himself. Frerin deserved a sponge bath after all the excitement yesterday, and if it meant that he got an eyeful of the goods, well.

Still Bilbo’s face grew redder and redder until the tips of his ears matched his face as a flash of perfectly sculpted abs and a blonde colored happy trail leading down… down… down… Praise Mahal for crafting such a perfect specimen. Truly, he knows his crafts well to have created such a wondrous being as Frerin. Even unconscious, he was a sight.

It was then that the door opened and Oin popped his head out. “Oi,” he shouted. “Your lad’s a heavy one. A little help wouldn’t go amiss.”

And that was how Bilbo found himself sponging down his apparent One. He was certain that all the blood in his body was going burst out. He got to touch that chest, those arms. He was covered in scars, but they only made Frerin all the more rugged. There was one particular scar that ran diagonal down his chest, just over his heart, that was jagged and pink.  

Bilbo ran his fingers over it and shuddered, turning in surprise as Oin said, “Orc blade, that, about 30 years ago next month. Nasty thing it was. With rough teeth covered in blood. It was a hard-fought battle, but I’m not the best healer in all of Erebor for nothing.”

Once he was bathed, Bilbo helped him into a clean tunic and was left alone, Oin throwing him a wink that was out of place with a comatose patient in his care. What exactly did Oin think was going to happen between them?

“I’m really sorry,” Bilbo said to Frerin, looking over his shoulder to double check he really was alone. “About. You know.” He coughed, fighting his blush. “I didn’t mean for this to happen, you understand.”

Bilbo patted Frerin’s arm. “I’m Bilbo, by the way,” he said. “I thought you ought to know. I’m going to fix this, don’t you worry. You probably wouldn’t want a silly hobbit like me for a One anyway.”

There was a soft knock on the door and Bilbo jumped in fright, clutching at his chest as an old dwarf with a long white beard walked in to usher him to dinner.

* * *

Freya eagerly embraced Bilbo as he was led into dining room of the royal quarters. She was beautiful, despite her age, and carried herself with the dignity that befit her station as Queen of Erebor. And unlike Thrain, her hair was not white, but a beautiful gold that shone brighter than the jewels braided within.

It was enough to remind Bilbo that he did not belong here amongst these dwarves. They were royalty. And he was nothing more than a dirty, rotten, liar.

He was overcome with guilt as she said, “It’s so nice to meet you, Bilbo Baggins.” There was a sour taste in his mouth as the other members of Frerin’s family greeted him as if he was a dear friend, having not visited in so long. He felt his hands grow clammy as King Thrain slapped him heartily on the back and forced him into the seat on his left hand side.

He just had to say it, that’s all. “I’m not Frerin’s One.” Easy as pie. Not as easy as making pie, but as easy as eating pie. All he had to do was say it. Say it and end the suffering.

As if he could say it now, with six pairs of eyes all trained on him.

Freya dabbed at her eyes, taking hold of her husband’s hand to say, “We’re overjoyed, Bilbo. We never thought Frerin would find his One.”

“Not for lack of trying,” Thrain guffawed. “He’s a fickle one, that boy.”

“Adad,” Dis chastised, smiling at Bilbo in reassurance.

“I’m hungry!” Kili shouted, grabbing a fork and banging it on the table.

Dis hushed him, saying, “You know the rules.”

Fili groaned, sliding down his chair. “Uncle Thorin’s always late.”

Uncle Thorin? Bilbo tried to remember all the members of the royal family. Ori had given him a quick crash course this morning, but there was just so much information and so little time.

“That’s because he’s the king,” Kili replied, pleased to have one upped his brother for once.

“He is not king yet,” Fili shot back, just as the doors swung open and in stepped an incredibly handsome dwarf. And now Bilbo remembered.

Thorin Oakenshield. The eldest Durin. Prince Regent of Erebor and, according to Ori, the one dwarf you don’t want to upset. If anyone could find out that he’s lying, it would be Thorin.

He stood tall and proud, a heavy crown gleaming from it’s perch atop his head, with a scowl that could strike a man dead if he so much as dare cross him.

The Durin’s cried out in happiness at his appearance, Fili and Kili grabbing their forks to pound on the table in excitement, but Bilbo could do nothing more than to stare at Thorin as he looked down his nose at him and said, “So, this is the hobbit.”

Bilbo was struck with the sudden desire to lay prostrate at his feet and confess all his sins. Yes, he was the one that ate all of Farmer Maggot’s carrots that summer, not Otho. And it was him who got strawberry stains on cousin Gertie’s best dress when he was just a faunt.

“Oh hush,” Freya chastised him, sitting him down right beside Bilbo. “Be nice.”

* * *

He was lying.

Thorin could feel it in his bones. There was no way that this… this… tiny hobbit could be his brother’s One. He was so… small. Small and helpless. He only had to look at the hobbit without him squeaking in absolute terror.

He was guilty, there was no doubt about that. He was a guilty, conniving hobbit and Thorin refused to let this lie fester, not while his family was so blindly fooled. This Baggins may seem sweet and proper with his round cheeks and tight waistcoats, with his handkerchiefs and bright smiles, but Thorin could see right through that act.

“And how did you and my brother meet,” Thorin said, once dinner had been tucked away and dessert – a blackberry pie – distributed evenly.

Bilbo looked up, forked raised to his mouth. Thorin mentally patted himself on the back for catching him unawares. Try getting out of that!

“He works at Dori’s tea shop,” Fili answered for him, crumbs stuck in his fuzzy mustache.

Bilbo nodded, dabbing his mouth daintily with his napkin.  “Thank you, Fili,” he said, earning him a bright smile from the lad, blackberry in his teeth. “I’ve worked there about three months now.”

“And when did you know he was your One?” Thorin asked, ignoring the glares sent his way by his mother and sister. “I beg your pardon, Master Baggins, but do halflings have Ones?”

“I am half of no one, Your Majesty,” Bilbo bit out, smiling most pleasantly as he added, “Or, Your Highness, rather.” He ate another forkful of pie before continuing. “And we do not have Ones as you dwarves do, though we do believe in soulmates, which are quite similar to Ones if I am not mistaken.”

“Yes, I have heard tale of soulmates,” Thorin replied. “Though it is more a feeling than knowing.”

Bilbo hummed, meeting Thorin’s eye. “I would argue _to know_ is _to feel_ , and vice versa. Perhaps I was not struck like a bolt of lightning, but sometimes the simple thumping of a heart is enough to know that what I feel is true,” he said. “True as any One.”

Dis grabbed Thorin’s arm and leaned into his ear, hissing, “What do you think you are doing?”

“He is no One of my brother,” Thorin whispered back.

“You are making a fool of yourself,” she told him, pulling his ear. “Stop it this instant.”

It was clear from the way Bilbo stared down at his half eated slice of pie and the glares from his parents that his conversation with Dis was not as secretive as they would have hoped. Thorin was not one for subtlety anyhow.

Thrain sat forward, motioning a fork in Thorin’s direction as he said, “If Bilbo truly wished to prove he was Frerin’s One, he would prove it.” He turned then to Bilbo, saying, “Isn’t that right?”

Bilbo gaped at them, clearly lost for words. Yes, little hobbit, how could you possibly prove it, Thorin thought with a smirk. Nothing short of his deepest darkest secrets could prove it and he had nothing. Thorin was sure of it.

His celebrating was short lived, however, as Bilbo said, “He has a long, jagged scar over his heart.” He pointed just below his collar bone to the center of his torso, where his sternum ended. “Right here.”

“You’ve seen it?” Dis breathed.

Bilbo nodded once before shaking his head furiously, blushing prettily. “Not because of… tupping… or - or - or anything of that sort! It just came up!” he explained, frantically waving his hands in front of him.

“And how,” Thorin grit out, “did he come upon this scar, if I may ask?” Frerin had never shown a living soul that scar aside from those who had been there when the Orc stabbed him, tearing through armor to pierce his heart. It was luck and a blessing from Mahal himself that Frerin had survived such a torture.

“Orc blade,” Bilbo answered, meeting Thorin’s eye. “Some near thirty years ago.”

A silence fell upon the dinner party and Thorin sat back, mind stirring with unrest. Frerin had told him once, that the only one who should ever see all the broken parts of himself would be his One. But this – It couldn’t be!

To think that this hobbit could so easily steal his brother’s heart away – Nay, to own his heart, was incredulous.

He was so enraptured with his thoughts that he spent the rest of the evening brooding over this new knowledge, not even acknowledging Bilbo as he left for home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oh thorin.


End file.
